Osano Akimatsu stepped into the house and stopped immediately.
The silence was wrong.
Not at all the peaceful kind.
The vacant kind, like something had been neglected for too long.
He slowly removed his shoes, placing them beside the door neatly.
His eyes lowered.
Another pair.
And they were smaller.
Cheaper.
Foreign.
Osano stared at them for a second too long.
"…Hm."
That was all he said.
A visitor.
Uninvited.
In his house.
His jaw tightened as he straightened and moved down the corridor, footsteps were unhurried. He passed the living room. Empty. The kitchen was cold.
No sound of Nene bustling, no nervous humming, no clatter of tea cups.
No sound of the twins creeping around or Yozora working in the basement.
Annoyance crept in.
"Where are you?" he murmured, not loudly enough to be a question.
As he reached the hallway near Yozora's room, something else caught his attention.
The door was open.
Osano frowned.
That never happened.
He slid the door aside.
And stopped.
Yozora laid on the bed, completely unconscious. His face was flushed an unhealthy shade, lips cracked, sweat soaking the sheets beneath him. His breathing was shallow—too weak, and too labored.
For the first time in a long time…
Osano's expression changed.
It was not panic.
It was not fear.
Something sharper.
"…Sick?" he said quietly.
Then his gaze shifted.
A boy knelt beside the bed, carefully pressing a cool cloth to Yozora's forehead, his movements gentle, almost reverent. A bowl of water sat nearby. The boy's hands were trembling, eyes red-rimmed with worry.
A stranger.
Osano looked him over in a single, slicing glance.
"So," Osano said mildly, "you must be the extra shoes."
Riku startled violently, whipping around.
"I—!" He swallowed. "Sir—!"
Osano raised a hand.
Riku went silent instantly.
Osano stepped closer, looming without effort. He looked down at his son again, eyes narrowing slightly as Yozora let out a broken breath and shifted in pain.
"How long," Osano asked calmly, "has he been like this?"
Riku hesitated, then answered honestly. "I—I don't know exactly. But he was already bad when I arrived. No one was helping him."
No one.
Osano straightened.
The word echoed unpleasantly in his mind.
He turned slowly, scanning the hallway, the shadows, the empty rooms beyond.
"…Nene?"
No answer.
His gaze hardened.
Where was his wife?
Why was his son unconscious?
Why was a stranger doing what his family should have done?
Osano exhaled through his nose, controlled, deliberate.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
He looked back at Riku, studying him with new attention—not anger yet, not gratitude either. Something closer to curiosity.
"And you are?" Osano asked.
Riku swallowed hard. "R-Riku. I'm… Yozora's friend."
Osano hummed softly.
"A friend," he repeated.
He glanced back at Yozora—at the fever, the vulnerability, the boy who was never supposed to look weak.
"…I see."
Outside, somewhere deep in the house, a floorboard creaked.
Osano's eyes flicked toward the sound.